


Concussions and Crushes (an auror/healer romance)

by CasablancaInTheTardis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Christmas, Fluff, Harry being reckless, Healer Draco Malfoy, Idiots in Love, M/M, Ministry nonsense, New Years, Romance, st mungo's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13216356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasablancaInTheTardis/pseuds/CasablancaInTheTardis
Summary: Harry is an auror who is constantly putting himself in danger and getting injured. Draco is the long-suffering healer-in-training who has to deal with it. Fluff and realisations of crushes/love. Some smatterings of Christmas/New Year magic. Not super in depth character exploration - just a bit of Drarry fun with our idiot boys.





	1. Two years, seven months, three days

The first time Draco Malfoy had to patch up Harry Potter was several years after they’d graduated Hogwarts. Draco was working the night shift at St Mungo’s as part of his third and final year of training when a dazed and confused Harry James Potter appeared with a very loud ‘pop’ in the middle of the third floor corridor (potions and plant-related poisonings).

At first, Draco didn’t recognise him. The intervening years had been kind to Potter – filling him out across the shoulders and squaring off his jaw. The idiot’s hair was as messy as it had always been, though, and this was what drew Draco’s attention. That, and the dark red bloody mess that seemed to be oozing out from underneath his hairline.

“Potter?”

“Ah! A healer!” Harry slurred triumphantly. “I made it!”

“How the hell did you apparate in here?”

“I’m Harry Potter, of course,” Potter said, looking indignant…before promptly fainting.

Draco cast a quick stasis charm, preventing Potter from hitting his stupid head on the stupid floor, and levitated him into a nearby empty ward. Upon closer inspection, the gash on his head wasn’t nearly as bad as first thought. Draco knew that head wounds tend to bleed profusely and hadn’t been too concerned. It was more the slurred speech and blurry vision (more so than usual) that appeared to be affecting Potter to his detriment. Obviously he had hit his head, you didn’t have to be a third year healer to work that much out, but what else was going on?

Draco thought it best to consult with his supervising medi-witch, but upon considering the flummoxed state most middle aged witches got into just looking at Harry’s picture in _T_ _he Prophet_ , he somehow knew it wasn’t worth the bother.

Instead, he ran his wand over Potter’s prone form, calculating the source of his problems. As it happened, the clearly none-too-bright auror had gotten himself stunned in the chest twice in the last hour, been revived, then been blasted by an expulso (this time in the back), presumably causing the front headwound, then had apparated through St Mungo’s very strong wards in order to faint in front of Draco Malfoy.

 _Classic heroic nonsense_ , Draco thought to himself, rolling his eyes. If Potter was so set on getting himself killed, then he had certainly chosen the right profession. He had read about Potter’s recent exploits in the paper (as had the rest of the wizarding world – it wasn’t as though Draco was obsessed). He had to admit, the number of dark wizards brought into custody by the boy wonder was impressive, but then, they didn’t call him ‘the chosen one’ for nothing, Draco supposed.

After running the diagnostics, and then fussing about the quiet ward for half an hour, Draco was just deciding whether to have a cup of tea or coffee before waking Potter up when the man in question stirred in his bed.

 _What is it with Potter being able to just shake off strong magic – I put him in stasis, for Merlin’s sake!_ Draco thought angrily, before reminding himself to be professional. Schooling his facial expression into something resembling polite but detached interest, Draco summoned his quill and notebook, ready to take down the particulars of Potter’s condition.

“Urghhh, my head,” Potter mumbled, reaching his hand up to touch his bandaged forehead.

“Yes, you’ve had a small accident, Potter. Nothing to be too concerned over,” Draco said, writing Potter’s name in neat cursive at the top of the page.

“Malfoy? What are you doing here?” Potter asked, squinting in Draco’s general direction – Draco had had to remove the offensive optical wear to complete his tests.

“That’s healer Malfoy to you, thank you,” Draco said with more than a hint of superiority. “You apparated into the middle of the hospital then promptly collapsed. I’ve been dealing with your recovery.”

“Wait, when?” Potter asked, struggling up to a seated position, “how long ago?! I have to get back to-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Draco said, thrusting out an authoritative arm to stop his patient. “You’ve had a nasty bump on the head and more than a bit of spell damage. You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and put them on, all the better to glare at Malfoy with. “You don’t understand. I was in the middle of a mission. If I don’t find out what happened to my partner then-"

“I already sent word to the Ministry. Standard protocol when one of your lot shows up alone. Should hear back any moment.” As if on cue, a silvery raven swooped into the room announcing that the mission was complete, and all parties accounted for, before dispersing into the air.

“See?”

“Okay. Well, thanks, I guess,” Harry said awkwardly. “Still, probably best if I go – I feel fine.”

“I highly doubt that,” Draco said with an arched eyebrow, “But if a patient as famous as yourself wishes to check themselves out against medical advice, then I cannot hope to do anything about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you’re Harry Potter – the boy who lived, the chosen one, the invincible. I am a mere healer in training – what could I possibly know about saving people’s lives?”

“Okay, point taken. No need to be sarcastic,” Harry said waving his hand in Malfoy’s direction.

“But it’s the funniest form of wit,” Draco countered, as he added to his notes on Harry’s condition.

“So, you’re a healer, now,” Harry stated after several minutes of Draco scratching his quill on Harry’s chart.

“I see auror training has sharpened your observational skills, Potter,” Draco replied, drily.

Harry felt himself getting annoyed. Why did Malfoy always have to be such a git?

Just as he opened his mouth to make an irritable retort, Malfoy replied, “Sorry, Potter. Yes, healer in training. Final year, now, just a few more hoops to jump through. So if you’d be so kind as to not die while under my care, that would be very much appreciated.” Harry snorted indelicately, but nodded his agreement.

A bell tolled five times, quietly and clearly from some distance. “Ah! Five a.m. I’m off for the day,” Malfoy said happily, setting down his clipboard with considerable relish. “You’re now under the care of Perkins who should be around any moment to check in. Do try not to be too...” he gestured vaguely at Harry’s who body, to which Harry certainly took offence. “Perkins is something of a Potter fanboy - what does that group call themselves? Ah, a ‘Potter-head’, and he may pass out at the prospect of treating wizarding royalty.”

Harry didn’t know what to be more confused by, the fact that Malfoy had referred to him as wizarding royalty without a hint of sarcasm, or the fact that he was disappointed that Malfoy was leaving. He chalked it up to the head wound and bade Malfoy a good morning.

As the blond man strode purposefully away, Harry couldn’t help but think that the years had been kind to Draco Malfoy. He held himself with confidence, now, rather than arrogance - the mark of a man who had earned his achievements rather than been handed them. Not to mention he’d lost the dark circles and gaunt features he’d sported when Voldemort was living under his roof. He’d filled out (slightly), and looked much healthier than before. Furthermore, the pale blue colour of the healer-in-training robes set off the softer grey in his eyes rather well.

But that was neither here nor there, Harry assured himself, willing himself back to sleep to avoid talking to medically-trained fans.


	2. Didn't see that coming

The next time healer Malfoy had been called on to treat Potter was the result of a charity quidditch match at the start of December.  
  
A team of healers in their final months of training had been assigned to treat injuries at the stadium in Cardiff (of all places) as an exercise in high pressure first aid. High pressure because, as with any quidditch match, there were rabid supporters on both sides who’d be prepared to tear the head off of any healer who didn’t patch up their player fast enough.  
  
Needless to say, Draco had not been looking forward to this particular challenge. Even though it was a charity match, favourite players from all the top teams had been selected to form the opposing sides for this game, bringing their plebeian fans with them.  
  
To round out the numbers were ‘celebrities’ du jour, including a half-Veela socialite who was engaged to the trainer for the Appleby Arrows, former Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Hamish McFarlan the younger, and, of course, war hero and all-round good guy, Harry Potter.  
  
Draco had smirked when he’d seen the line up. He wondered how they’d managed to convince Potter - notorious for his proclaimed disdain for the spotlight - to participate in such a high profile event. Then again, this was for charity and Potter had a soft spot for the downtrodden and depressed. It was one of the few things that Draco admired about him.  
  
On this particular occasion, Potter had taken a bludger to the head and had gone spiralling towards the ground. The referee managed to cushion his fall, but Draco was first on the ground, again levitating Harry’s unresponsive body to the treatment area with the intention of reviving him and sending him out to play again.  
  
This didn’t quite sit right with Draco, who - as Potter’s previous healer - had concerns over pre-existing head trauma. So, despite a frankly absurd amount of booing, hissing and even spitting from the crowd, Draco took a few minutes to cast his diagnostic charms and consult Potter’s previous patient notes before bringing Potter back to consciousness.  
  
Harry blinked blearily, eyes a bit slow to come into focus (if you asked Draco).  
  
“My head hurts,” he said with a grimace.  
  
“I’m not surprised, you twit. Bludgers and former head trauma patients do not mix.”  
  
“Bludger? Oh, right. The quidditch thing,” Harry mumbled, running a hand through his hair.  
  
“Might I enquire why Weaselette felt the need to aim that bludger at you with such undue force?”  
  
“She wants to win, I suppose,” Harry shrugged, reaching down to fasten his boots.  
  
“Isn’t she on your team?”  
  
“Fair point,” Harry grunted, readjusting his flying goggles. “Could be something to do with the fact that we broke up a month ago.”  
  
Draco nearly dropped the vial of headache potion he was holding, but quickly regained his composure. “Oh?”  
  
“Turns out neither of us is as straight as we used to be, I was just the first one to say it out loud,” Harry said, frowning in confusion. “Don’t know why I said that.”  
  
“Blow to the head?”  
  
“Right. Well, it’s not common knowledge yet, so...”   
  
“My lips are sealed, Potter. Now get back to the game before these hooligans hex me for taking too long.”  
  
Harry nodded slightly, then turned back to the pitch, collecting his Firebolt on the way. And Draco certainly did not notice how good Potter’s bum looked in his tight quidditch pants. Definitely not.


	3. First Responder Malfoy

Draco spent the next week determinedly not replaying Harry’s words in his head - “not as straight as we used to be” - and certainly not picturing the man’s divine behind. In fact, if truth be told, he’d tried so hard to distract himself from those thoughts that he'd spent the majority of the week decorating his apartment for Christmas, drinking whiskey and reading over his case notes. He’d only been rostered on three days a week for the time being, because he’d be needed full time once the medi-wizards took their annual leave at the start of January.  
  
It was nearing six p.m. and, realising he hadn’t left his home in two days, Draco decided it was time for a spot of Christmas shopping and maybe a nice meal out. He briefly considered Diagon Alley, before realising it would be madness at this time. Crowded magical spaces were worse than muggle ones, because children who became over-excited by all the Yuletide celebrations were prone to outbursts of accidental magic, and he didn’t want to have to deal with that as a trained medi-wizard or as a shopper.  
  
No, muggle London would have to do.  
  
He rugged up in his favourite winter coat - the pale grey one, with the collar he could turn up against the cold - and donned a beanie and mittens for good measure. He knew he looked distinctly common, but at least the tips of his ears wouldn’t be lost to frostbite.  
  
He apparated in the middle of a bustling crowd on Oxford Street and made his way hastily towards Primark. Though it was full of slightly tacky merchandise, and more bargains than you could poke a stick at, he knew his mother would love one of their over the top Christmas jumpers. Ever since his father had become a permanent resident of Azkaban, he found his mother enjoying the sillier side of life. She was still somewhat pretentious and would prefer a night out at the ballet than at the Leaky Cauldron, but she’d always been very enthusiastic about the holiday season.  
  
Pushing his way though crowds of overly-tired toddlers attached to their irritable parents, Draco found himself in the festive section of the store, piles of Santa hats and antler-headbands strewn everywhere.  
  
He couldn’t help but turn up his nose slightly. Honestly, one quick charm would have everything back in its place and make this whole experience much more straightforward.

He was contemplating making a large noise - maybe blow a lightbulb or knock over a large display - to serve as a distraction so he could tidy up, when he was saved the trouble.  
  
Right in the centre of the Christmas section stood an enormous fir tree, decorated with tinsel, twinkling lights and baubles aplenty. Rather, it had been, before it came crashing towards the ground, sending shoppers, and yet more piles of festive merchandise, scattering.  
  
Draco was too shocked to make the most of the opportunity to spell the store tidy, and instead made his way towards the wreckage as everyone was running away. His first aid training was kicking in - it was a very large tree, and perhaps someone had gotten hurt.  
  
“Teddy, no,” came an exasperated and familiar voice from the other side of the tree’s enormous bottom layer of needles. “I said we could climb the tree at home, not here!”  
  
“Potter?” Draco called, peering around the tree’s base.  
  
To his surprise, Harry was sat on the floor, surrounded by tinsel, cradling a small child to his chest. A small, blue-haired, now-wailing child.  
  
“Umm, need some help?” Draco asked, as Harry hadn’t seemed to have heard him initially. Harry started, looking up at Draco in shock. The blue-haired boy stopped wailing and followed Harry's gaze.  
  
“Malfoy? What are you doing in a Primark?”  
  
“Shopping for my mother. What are you doing with a small child? And why on earth did you dye his hair blue?”  
  
“I didn’t. He’s a metamorphmagus. Teddy, this is Mr Malfoy. Say hello.”  
  
The boy in question wiped a balled fist across his face, collecting both tears and snot, and waved it wetly in Draco’s direction - it was all the man could do not to wince.  
  
“Teddy, as in-”  
  
“Short for Edward. Remus and Tonk’s kid, yeah,” Harry said nodding. “And the very naughty child who knocked over this tree!”  
  
“Sorry, Harry,” sniffed the child, who couldn’t have been more than three or four years old.  
  
“That’s ok, you just sit right here and Mr Malfoy and I are going to put everything right,” Harry said placatingly. “I think a momentary power failure would give us time to reset, don’t you?” he asked Draco, who nodded, casting a swift and powerful ‘nox’ while Harry spelled everything back into place.  
  
The tree was once again upright, resplendent in red and gold tinsel ( _bloody Gryffindor colours_ , Draco thought to himself), and Harry was now crouched down in front of Teddy who was holding his left hand in front of Harry’s face and trying not to cry.  
  
“What’s wrong, Ted?” Harry asked.  
  
“Oww,” Ted sniffed, opening his hand to show a little red cut across his palm.  
  
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Harry said, not at all sounding okay, “I’ll just find the first aid kit.”  
  
He pulled out a small beaded handbag - something Draco made a mental note of to make fun of later - and started rummaging around with a look of determination on his face. Meanwhile, the little blue-haired boy started to sniff worryingly, and his lip wobbled with the effort of not crying. Healer Malfoy swung into action.  
  
“Hello, little man,” he said, sinking onto his knees so he was eye level with Teddy. “May I please have a look at that cut?”  
  
Teddy sniffed again, nodding, then offered his hand to Draco. Taking the boy’s hand gently in his, Draco then cast his wand over the cut, cleaning it of any dirt and grime.  
  
“Now, this won’t hurt a bit. Can you be brave for me?”  
  
Teddy nodded again, and Harry looked up from his search with a bemused expression on his face.  
  
Draco cast a spell that knit the skin back together, leaving a pale pink line across the skin.  
  
“There you go. That wasn’t so bad, now, was it? Now you have a cool scar like Harry,” he smiled, eliciting a sheepish grin from the little boy.  
  
“Don’t worry, it won’t actually scar,” he said as an aside to Harry. “It wasn’t that deep a cut so it’ll only be pink for a day or two.”  
  
“Thank you,” Harry said, looking genuinely grateful, and Draco’s stomach did a weird little flip at that smile.  
  
“Any time,” he shrugged, willing his cheeks to stop blushing. “Healer Malfoy at your service.”  
  
Harry was at a loss for words, and was finding it difficult to look away from Malfoy’s piercing grey eyes, which was a worry in and of itself. Teddy tugged at his shirt sleeve, pulling his focus away.  
  
“Right! Time to go home, I think,” Harry said, hoisting Teddy up onto his hip with practiced ease. For some reason, this made Draco’s stomach do another little flip. _How curious_ , Draco thought.  
  
“Thank you, Mr Malfoy,” Teddy said, his hair somehow brighter than before.  
  
“You’re more than welcome, Teddy. Merry Christmas,” Draco replied.  
  
“See you around, Malfoy,” Harry said, before walking away with perhaps more speed than strictly necessary. Draco watched him go with a sense of something between dread and excitement settling over him - Harry had always been able to unsettle him but this was something different.

Something that was definitely worth exploring, Draco decided.


	4. Reckless Idiot

It was half past four in the afternoon when the alert came through: dark wizard on the rampage in Diagon Alley, twenty casualties, assistance at the scene needed urgently.  
  
Draco had been dreading an occurrence like this. Not because he was scared of so called ‘dark wizards’ - nothing could be worse than Lord Voldemort inhabiting your childhood home - but because of how people would respond to his involvement. It seemed that no matter how hard you could try to overcome a bad reputation - no matter how many good deeds you perform, or if you dedicated your life to helping others - there are some things that will haunt you forever.  
  
When he arrived on the scene, with his fellow medi-wizards and witches, it was to the sound of terror. People screaming, running, crying - it was madness. But through all that, he still heard the words ‘Death Eater’ and ‘traitor’ following him.  
  
But he blocked it out - time to be professional and do what he had set out to do. So he pushed on towards the danger.  
  
Aurors had cordoned off part of the alley and transported the wounded to the edge so they could be treated by the healers. Evidently, though, the fight was continuing as Draco could hear loud cracks and see bright flashes coming from within one of the buildings. From memory, it had been a vacant shop front, so at least there would be no more casualties if the aurors had done their jobs properly.  
  
Draco started by helping to triage the patients - deal with the unconscious ones first, because they can’t maintain their airways, then look for signs of bleeding/extensive blood loss, and lastly broken bones or lesser physical injuries.  
  
He had just finished stemming the bleeding of a young witch’s head wound, when the shop front not thirty metres away exploded, sending glass and splinters of wood everywhere. One of the aurors maintaining the barrier threw up a quick protego shielding them from damage, but it was clear to see this hadn’t been anticipated.  
  
“He’s stronger than we thought,” one of them shouted to another, and Draco tried to block them out and focus, he really did.  
  
“Potter’s in there alone. Richards was hit with crucio and is unconscious,” the other replied, sounding panicked.  
  
“Where the fuck are back-up?” The first auror replied.  
  
As if on cue, two more scarlet-robed figures rushed onto the scene, pushing past Draco who had quite forgotten what he was supposed to be doing, and into the building.  
  
Shaking his head as if to clear it, Draco began to tend to his next patient, a middle-aged wizard who seemed to have suffered some sort of crushing curse to his forearm. Casting a stasis charm and giving the wizard an anti-inflammatory potion, Draco moved him on to be treated for shock further back from the danger.  
  
As he was moving to treat the next person, four figures burst out of the building, forcing the aurors on the barrier to start shunting everyone back further. Draco tried to see past them, but all he could make out was two figures in auror robes facing off against another auror and a man in all black (presumably the ‘dark wizard’).  
  
“Smith, snap out of it!” a female voice cried.  
  
“He can’t. He’s under the Imperius curse,” Harry’s voice replied, firing off spell after spell but none of them appeared to be hitting their target.  
  
“Potter, what do we do? This isn’t working!”  
  
Unfortunately for Draco, he couldn’t see what happened next as another victim was brought into his care - this one apparently having been hit with some sort of curse in the last few minutes rendering them unconscious. As Draco knew, there could be any number of causes but the likelihood was that, due to the dark nature of the spells being flung around, this particular case would require greater testing. He hurried the witch onto a stretcher, hooked her up to a breathing device, and sent her levitating off to be transported to St Mungo’s.  
  
He turned back to find his next patient, just as a giant burst of white light exploded in front of his face. There were screams and cries of horror, as everyone in the area was temporarily blinded by the light. There was also a fair bit of pale, silvery smoke about, and when it cleared Draco saw that the dark wizard, imperiused auror and Potter were all out cold on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, with the other aurors rushing in to secure the criminal.  
  
Draco sprung into action, rushing forward to tend to the aurors, his colleagues close behind. He was closest to the imperiused auror - Richards, was it? - and began working on reviving him immediately (even though he was much more concerned about the well-being on one Harry James Potter).

***  


Several hours later and Draco was back at St Mungo’s following up on all the casualties he’d treated. Aurors Richards and Potter were in a closed ward under observation from head healers, but Draco may or may not have found himself wandering past their door a few times.  
  
It would seem that auror Potter had used himself as something of a human shield, using wandless magic and sheer determination to send out an extremely strong ‘protego’ emanating from his body, which had the joint effect of knocking himself and the two antagonists out, whilst protecting everyone else in the vicinity and extending a calmness over the scene (as evidenced by the silver smoke). It was an impressive, potentially never-before-seen piece of magic but had taken its toll on Harry, who was still unconscious all this time later. If Draco had to make an educated guess, it would be that Potter had drained his magic reserves somewhat and needed time to recharge, though by his estimation it could be somewhere up to a week before the man could do wandless magic again. Then again, Draco could also describe it as the result of one being a reckless idiot, who placed more value on the safety of others than on one’s own well being.  
  
As a wizard trained in first aid, Draco knew the first rule was always to protect yourself first so you can then help others. _Not knock yourself out to help others. Honestly, doesn’t Potter know anything?_  
  
A set of chimes went off outside the aurors’ shared ward, indicating that at least one of them had woken up. Draco busied himself by attending to his other patients, not willing to admit to himself or anyone else how Potter’s wellbeing was becoming increasingly important to his peace of mind.  
  
An hour or so later, after all the hullabaloo had died down, Draco decided to chance a visit to Potter’s ward, just to see how the idiot was progressing. As he neared the door he heard raised voices that were all too familiar from his school days.  
  
“You could’ve been killed! What on earth were you thinking?”

“She’s right, Harry! You know what Robards says about waiting for backup,” came a second voice.

 _Ah, Granger and Weasel_ , Draco realised, _charming._  
  
Knocking, but not waiting for an answer, Draco strode into the room, looking for all the world as though he owned the place.

“Potter, you’re up. Good to see you didn’t die in the line of duty. Just here to check your vitals,” he said confidently, before pretending to start at the sight of Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, visitors. I do apologise,” (though, if you asked Harry, Draco didn’t sound remotely apologetic).

“It’s fine, Healer Malfoy. Carry on,” Hermione said, ever the mature adult. The same couldn’t be said for Ron, whose cheeks had already begun to heat up. That being said, Draco was too busy focusing on the patient who wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to be under his care. Harry looked far too pale for Draco’s liking.  
  
Automatically, Draco placed the back of his hand against the skin of Harry’s forehead and was slightly concerned by how cool and clammy he was.

“Hmm, you’re a bit off, Potter,” - Ron snorted - “Did Anderson give you any potions to take?”

“No, just bed rest,” Harry replied.

Draco withdrew his hand and instead placed two pale fingers at Harry’s pulse point on his wrist, taking out his pocket watch and timing his charge’s pulse - it was alarmingly increasingly erratic.

“I think Potter needs to rest,” he said, addressing Hermione. “His heart rate is higher than I’d like it to be and, judging by what happened, I suspect his magical reserves are somewhat drained after the incident.”

“Berating you probably isn’t helping,” she said to Harry, “We’ll just leave you to rest.”

“You were a proper idiot, though,” Ron said with a frown. “You didn’t make it through a war to be taken down by some bastard in a cape, just because you’re bent on playing hero.”

“Ron!” Hermione tried to calm him.

“No, look, I know Harry needs rest, but this is the second time he’s been in here in the last month and it’s not on. He’s family and he needs to know that some of us care whether he lives or dies,” Ron said, voice slightly raised and gaze directed at Harry.

“Here here,” Draco said under his breath... or so he thought until he saw three wide pairs of eyes on him. “What?”

“You just agreed with Ron,” Harry said dumbly.

“Yes, and?”

“Do you care whether he lives or dies?” Ron raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I do. I’m a healer,” Draco replied as though speaking to an imbecile (which he was, he supposed).

“But Harry specifically?” Hermione asked shrewdly, and Draco silently questioned why he was being tested like this on today of all days.

“I happened to be there today, when Potter went all self-sacrificing and whatnot, and while it was brave it was also incredibly stupid.”

“Hey!”

“Well it was. You seem to have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, and as someone who deals with the health and wellbeing of others, I find your attitude to mortality cavalier and irresponsible.”

If Harry looked shell-shocked, it was nothing compared to the expressions on Ron and Hermione’s faces.

Draco continued, “Furthermore, your actions today, though undoubtedly noble, could’ve resulted in little Teddy being without his uncle, and countless more being without their friend, colleague, lover, or whatever you are to them. But mostly, I just think you ought to be more careful and, as Weasley put it, stop trying to be the hero all the damn time. Honestly, it’s like you never left Hogwarts.”  
  
Then, realising he’d said probably more than he needed to and definitely more than a healer should have, he mumbled something about fetching Harry a sleeping potion and swiftly exited the room. Not before he heard Ron ask Harry how ‘the blond git’ knows about Teddy, and Hermione looking incredibly smug. It was all very confusing.  
  
He found the potion he was looking for straight away, but waited until he saw Harry’s friends leave the ward before slipping in to administer it. Harry was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with a faint crease between his eyebrows. His eyes flicked to the door and then back to the ceiling when Draco entered.

“Potion,” Draco said pointlessly, as Harry made no move to sit up.

There was a slight pause.

“Do you really think I’m a reckless idiot?”

“Yes,” said Draco without hesitation. “I thought I made that quite obvious.”

“And do you think I’m a bad uncle?” Harry asked in a softer voice, and Draco was alarmed to hear a slight wobble.

“I’m not your counsellor, Potter. My opinions on such things don’t matter.”

Harry turned his head to face Draco, expression a combination of worry and determination. “It matters to me.”

Draco sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Potter was not going to let this go. “No, you’re not a bad uncle. You clearly care for that child a great deal-”

“Then why did you bring him up before?” Harry interjected.

“Because I want you to understand the consequences of your actions. You’re constantly putting yourself in harm’s way to protect others, when there are other reasonable ways of protecting people. You don’t always have to be on the front line.”

“But I didn’t have another choice today. He had Richards under the imperius and-”

“I know, I was there. But you could’ve waited for back-up. Weasley was right - this hero nonsense has to stop!”

“But-”

“No buts! You asked my opinion and there it is. Like it or leave it, I don’t care. You get wounded, you nearly die, and I fix you - that’s my job, not telling you what to do with your life. But you do need to get it through that thick skull of yours that your actions have consequences and that some of us would be quite put out if you decided to shuffle off this mortal coil because of some heroic impulse or idiotic bravado. Understood?”

Completely shocked, Harry just nodded.

“Good. Now drink your potion. I need a cup of tea.”


	5. New Year's Eve

Thankfully, the next time Harry and Draco laid eyes on one another it had nothing to do with any injuries or deadly situations, though it was at St Mungo’s Hospital...

It was the 31st of December, and the Hospital’s fifth floor, which was traditionally a waiting room and gift shop, had been transformed into an enormous ballroom, complete with a live band, several bars, ornate (though, if you asked Draco, garish) decorations and wizards on roller skates serving hors d’oeuvres. The party was an opportunity for all available (off duty) staff to let their hair down, for recovered patients to thank their healers, and for the hospital to raise funds from much-relied-upon benefactors.

Harry Potter fell under two of these three categories, being both a frequent patient and philanthropist who had given generously to the hospital over the year (if not just because he felt responsible as a drain on their resources). In spite of himself, Draco had hoped Potter would be there. Idiot should be. _His hospital bills alone could pay for the entire Janus Thickey War twice over,_ he thought to himself, taking a tentative sip of champagne. Not a patch on the wine they used to serve at the Manor, but it would do for a night at an office party.

Draco himself looked resplendent in silvery-grey dress robes – he deliberately wore this colour often to complement his eyes – though he tried to tell himself that he hadn’t dressed up for Potter. It was a half-hearted attempt at best. He’d found it very difficult over the past week to focus on much else. His former nemesis who had proven not only to be a reckless idiot of the highest order, but a devoted godparent-come-uncle, a frankly amazing auror, and a very attractive human being in general. It would be exceedingly irritating if not for the fact that Draco was fairly sure Potter was a) bisexual, b) newly single and c) on friendlier terms with him than they’d ever been. If there was ever a time to test the waters with Potter, it would be now.

It was a testament to how far Draco had come in his work as a junior healer that his night hadn’t been filled with distrustful glances and mutters of ‘death eater’ but filled with praise and more than a few once-overs from inebriated witches and wizards (one of whom pressed his address into Draco’s palm with a very sloppy wink). Draco inwardly congratulated his tailor on the robes – which were clearly having the desired effect – and turned back to the crowded bar to fetch another drink. After all, these sorts of social interactions required liquid courage.

Across the floor, the object of Draco’s newfound affections was trapped in an awkward conversation with a sycophantic mediwitch.

“Honestly, Mister Potter, it has been such an honour working with you and the whole auror team,” she gushed, gesticulating grandly. “To know that we’re helping you make a difference is just marvellous.”

“Well, yes,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly. “The staff here are very helpful.”

“Oh, it’s more than that! We truly do…” at which point Harry tuned out, because he had seen Draco and his posh robes across the room and suddenly had better things to do.

Rather than be rudely inattentive, Harry decided it would be more sensible to bid the witch farewell and speak with his erstwhile healer and apparent moral compass. He briefly noted her look of disappointment, and flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, before crossing the floor to the bar where Draco was ordering another drink.

Harry was honestly starting to question his own sanity, but ever since Draco had given him a good telling off for his reckless behaviour, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Lately, only Ron and Hermione seemed willing to call him out on his shit, so maybe it was the refreshing lack of deference that the healer seemed to show him that was so appealing. Or it could be his fantastically attractive physique and dress sense. In any case, Harry had firmly decided that he had to work out Draco Malfoy, and the sooner the better.

“Healer Malfoy.”

Draco whipped around and nearly spat his drink down the front of a very well-dressed Harry Potter. The auror was wearing midnight blue robes trimmed with intricate silver brocade which made him look even more striking than usual. As ever, his hair was an absolute mess, but it didn’t detract in any way from his appearance. In fact, if anything, it added a devil-may-care aura to a quite formal outfit - Draco considered himself impressed.

“Auror Potter,” he replied with a dip of the head, quickly recovering his composure, “Nice to see you up and about.”

“Well, I’ll admit, it’s nice to be here without needing medical assistance,” Harry smiled, and Draco forgot to breathe for a moment.

“It must be quite the novelty,” Draco smirked. Then, before he could help himself, “Any headaches, dizziness, or nausea following the latest incident?”

“No, I’m fine. Was just woozy for a few days. But fighting fit again.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Draco replied, before mentally smacking himself for saying what he actually thought. On the plus side, he was gratified to see Harry’s cheeks colour slightly.

“Formal event. Thought I’d better make an effort,” Harry shrugged, attempting nonchalance and failing, as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Well, you certainly look the part, Potter,” Draco said, deciding in for a sickle, in for a galleon.

“Uh, thanks, you too,” Harry replied awkwardly, though he felt his stomach do a weird little flip - most inconvenient.

“I am surprised you put in an appearance, though,” Draco continued.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked, procuring himself another drink in the meantime. Surely Firewhiskey would settle his nerves.

“Two things, really. Firstly, you hate these sorts of events, especially when you know there will be so-called ‘Potter-heads’ present. And secondly, I find it hard to believe that someone as popular and loved as yourself didn’t have somewhere better to be on New Year’s Eve.”

“How do you know I hate these sorts of things?” Harry frowned.

“You always have. I remember in fourth year, the Yule Ball was something you were never particularly keen on. Then there were all the Ministry galas post-war that you simply didn’t show up to even though I’m pretty sure you were supposed to make a speech. And then-”

“Okay, I get the picture,” Harry interrupted, embarrassed. “Didn’t know you were paying such close attention to me,” he muttered. Draco felt his cheeks flame. “And how come you’re not at some fancy party?” Harry asked to make himself feel less scrutinised.

“In case it’s escaped your notice, Potter, I am at a fancy party.”

“Surely ‘work do’ doesn’t come into your top ten invites for the holiday season?”

“I think you’re forgetting that I am a reformed Death Eater. My social calendar is far from full.” Draco had meant it as a light-hearted joke but realised quickly that it had fallen flat.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said immediately, feeling like a complete idiot. “I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine, Potter, really.”

“No. I should’ve-“

“I was aiming for a joke, but I think I missed. Forgive me,” Draco said, with a slight incline of the head.

“You make jokes now?”

“Apparently not very good ones,” Draco shrugged. “I was just thinking earlier how far I’d come from that life. It was quite a pleasant thought, to be honest.”

“How do you mean?”

“Only that I’ve made a new life for myself. I think I must be doing a good job, for the most part, or they wouldn’t let me stay. It’s nice to… I suppose, trite as it may sound… feel like I’m making a difference?” Draco said, avoiding Harry’s eyes in favour of staring off into the crowd. He felt a right twat for saying all that out loud, but it somehow felt important that Harry knew. That he’d changed. That he’d done some good. He wasn’t sure, really. But it was important.

And for his part, Harry was impressed and interested, and genuinely wanted to know more. About why Draco had chosen this life for himself. What his favourite injury stories were. Why he stayed in Britain rather than studying abroad. What he liked to do in his down time. While Draco was saying essentially the same thing as the mediwitch from earlier – that this was a very rewarding line of work – from Draco’s lips it had new meaning.

“Hello? Earth to Potter?” Draco was waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you sure you’re fully recovered from your last head injury because you haven’t spoken in a full minute.”

“Call me Harry,” Harry said before he could stop himself.

“Why?”

“Because it’s my name.”

“Should I repeat my previous question? Head injury? You do remember that don’t you, Potter?” Draco said – part-joking, and part-genuinely concerned.

“Call me Harry,” he repeated.

“We don’t do that.”

“It’s my name,” Harry repeated slowly, as if speaking to an infant.

“Draco is my name, but you always call me Malfoy.”

“Okay, Draco, please call me Harry.”

And the healer couldn’t pretend he didn’t get a thrill from hearing the Chosen One use his given name.

“That’s Healer Draco Malfoy to you,” he said, raising his chin in a pale imitation of his schoolboy haughtiness.

“Apologies, oh great Healer Draco,” Harry said with a cheeky grin.

“Fine,” Draco said, pretending to be cool. “So, Harry, how was- no I’m sorry, that’s bizarre. You’ve been Potter since we were eleven. It’s too late to change it now.”

“Well, I’m sticking with Draco. It suits you.”

Draco smirked and took a sip of his champagne. “Really? How so?”

“It’s pretentious but likeable,” Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t it mean dragon?”

“Surprised you know Latin.”

“ _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_ was our school motto, remember? You don’t get through school with Hermione without hearing Hogwarts: A History paraphrased within an inch of its life.”

Draco laughed, imagining Granger trying to explain all the magical history to two thoroughly uninterested teenagers. It was amazing they’d managed to defeat the Dark Lord with their attention spans, to be honest.

“Never tickle a sleeping dragon,” he nodded in agreement.

“You’re a bit like a dragon, actually-” Harry continued, now off on a tangent, “the way you bit my head off for not taking better care of myself.”

Draco sobered, remembering his outburst and still feeling ever-so-slightly embarrassed for showing his hand. “I know it was unprofessional, but really, the way you throw yourself at trouble like that! It’s not decent.”

Harry surprised Draco by laughing at his comment - a genuine, eye-crinkling, teeth-flashing laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Draco frowned.

“If you think that’s indecent,” Harry smirked, “you’d be appalled by what I get up to in my spare time.”

This time Draco did choke on his drink, spluttering in a most undignified way until a nearby co-worker came past and slapped him on the back.

“You right there, Malfoy?” She asked.

“Fine, I’m fine,” he wheezed in response, shocked to see Potter’s eyes twinkling with mirth - the bastard thought this was funny.

The helpful co-worker kept walking on to join another group, giving Draco the opportunity to give Harry a very dirty look, to which the bespectacled idiot simply shrugged. Draco wasn’t sure if Harry was messing with him, flirting with him, or if this genuinely was the result of one too many injuries in the line of auror duty.

Another past patient of Draco’s swept over at that minute, gushing about his efficiency and bedside manner, and Harry couldn’t help but be impressed by how Draco managed to compose himself and receive the praise so humbly. The interruption also gave Draco a moment to recover from his Potter-induced shock and the beginnings of arousal. Honestly, that smirk was surely illegal.

Draco decided he needed to regain control of the situation - Potter was having far too much fun toying with him. Time to return to the tried and true staples of social interaction: small talk and drinking.

“So, how are the Weasley family?” he asked.

“Good,” Harry replied, not as taken aback as Draco would’ve liked. “Mr and Mrs Weasley have just finished rebuilding the Burrow, actually. And Charlie’s home for a month from Romania. Working with dragon breeders in Yorkshire, I think.”

“And how’s the Weaselette?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that,” Harry frowned. “She’s fine, I guess. You know we don’t talk much anymore.”

“Oh?”

“You commented on it at the charity quidditch match. You asked why she hit the ball at me, and I told you it was because we’d both decided it wasn’t working and now we don’t talk.”

Realising he was straying far from casual small talk, but unable to stop himself, Draco answered, “Well, actually, to quote verbatim, you said ‘neither of us are as straight as we used to be’ but I’m not one to split hairs.”

“Why are you so interested?”

“In what?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“In my love life.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Potter.”

“Harry,” he repeated, “and I think you do,” Harry said, stepping closer into Draco’s personal space. “I think that you care that I’m not with Ginny anymore.”

Draco swallowed - his mouth was unreasonably dry - why was Potter so close and why did he smell so good?

“Well, someone has an inflated opinion of themselves,” he said, aiming for disparaging and missing altogether.

“I think you care that I throw myself into harm’s way on a semi-regular basis-“

“That’s because I am a dedicated healer,” Draco shot back, wishing that his cheeks would stop feeling as though they were on fire. Wasn’t he supposed to be in charge of this conversation?

“Are you sure that’s all?” Harry asked, and Draco thought he saw a flicker of insecurity pass over Harry’s, no, _Potter’s_ face.

And that was all he needed to escape this situation with his dignity intact.

“Potter, I’m flattered, but I merely care for your wellbeing from the viewpoint of a humble medical practitioner and grateful beneficiary of the saviour of all wizard-kind.”

He almost thought he could see Potter’s confidence deflate in front of him. The man’s cheeks pinked, and he looked away across the crowded dancefloor seemingly searching for something else to latch onto. Draco felt guilt and shame and another uncomfortable, unnamed feeling wash over him. Maybe it hadn’t been insecurity he’d seen on Potter’s face, but hope.

He wanted to tell Potter that yes, he did care for him more than a healer should for an ex-patient. And that, yes, every time he opened the _Daily Prophet_ to an article about the latest auror exploits, Draco’s heart jumps into his throat hoping that Potter’s name won’t be listed in the casualty section. And that, yes, okay, he did find Potter’s bum to be absolutely irresistible in his quidditch gear and that was as true now as it had been at Hogwarts.

But he didn’t tell him any of that. Because for all that had changed, and for all of the distance Draco had wanted to put between himself and his past, he was still a coward.

“Sorry, I think I’ve seen someone I need to speak with,” Harry mumbled lamely, disappearing into the crowd before Draco could stop him. It was all he could do to stop himself from turning around and faceplanting into the bar. Why was he such an idiot? He’d wanted to regain control of the conversation, maybe push some of the flirting and light-hearted interrogation back on Potter, not push him away and completely dissuade him of the notion that perhaps Draco’s interest in him ventured beyond the professional, which it very much did!

So, Draco decides to get sozzled. A perfectly normal, adult response to a perfectly abnormal, childish conversation. However, Draco is not a complete idiot – he is aware that he is surrounded by his employers and people he has treated in the past, as well as those he may need to treat in the future (Potter, of course, being one). So, he decides to do the sensible thing by snagging a bottle of Firewhiskey and making his way out onto the balcony where he can drink in peace. Well, relative peace. Because of course some of the party has spilled out onto the balcony.

It’s charmed to appear as though it’s overlooking a moonlit park, though Draco knows full well that in daylight hours it opens onto a narrow chasm between St Mungo’s and the tall brick building of a disused muggle factory next door. But the illusion of space and greenery is nice nonetheless and Draco finds that the further down the bottle he gets, the less he cares that everything is an illusion.

***

It must be nearing midnight by the time Draco decides to venture back inside. Well, that was the aim. He was finding it rather difficult to put one foot in front of the other, truth be told. He nodded politely at other party-goers on the balcony, holding onto the rail in a way that he hoped wasn’t obvious in order to remain upright. _Honestly! This is why people shouldn’t drink the cheap stuff_ , Draco thought to himself. There’s no way he’d be this drunk on the good elf-made wine from the Malfoy’s cellar.

As he edged around the railing of the balcony, trying to make his way back inside, he thinks he sees a flash of dark blue robes with silver embroidery in the corner of his eye. He shakes his head and nearly loses his balance. _Bloody Potter._

In the next moment he feels a rush of something silky and soft envelop him, before he feels rather than hears a _silencio_ being cast. Suddenly, he’s very worried that he should be shouting for help even though it’s obvious to him that he has lost the ability to make any noise whatsoever. Failing that, he decides to move about as much as possible, so his attacker will struggle to, well, attack.

Unfortunately, he finds his flailing useless as all it does is make him very dizzy, very quickly.

Then there is a warm hand taking a firm grip on his wrist before he feels the familiar and uncomfortable twist of disapparation.

A moment later, Draco has appeared with a far-too-loud pop outside of his London flat, silencio charm lifted but the warm hand still on his wrist.

“Let go!” he shouts, slightly hysterical. Why has his attacker brought him home?

“Malfoy, calm down,” says an exasperated and familiar voice. Because of course it’s Potter. “Yes, it’s me. Who did you think it was?” asks the voice, and it becomes clear that Draco has said that last bit out loud.

“I don’t know, but I was being abducted. How did you think I would react?” Draco said crossly, trying very hard to keep Potter in focus now that he’d relinquished his grip and was standing in front of him.

“Well, I wasn’t going to apparate you. I was just going to take you back to your office for a sobering potion, but you bloody wiggled around so much the invisibility cloak would’ve slipped off,” Harry said frowning.

“Why are you helping me? I was very rude,” Draco said churlishly, crossing his arms, and then plopping down onto the steps of the building as if exhausted.  
Harry heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You weren’t rude, you were just being honest. I didn’t mean to assume-”

“I wasn’t, though,” Draco said, closing his eyes for a moment.

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he decided to sit down next to Malfoy for a moment and just wait it out. He wasn’t sure what Malfoy’s deal was, but he was both curious to find out and hesitant to pry or put his own feelings on the line.

“Bloody hero complex,” Draco muttered, forcing a snort from Harry next to him.

A not entirely unpleasant silence settled between them for a few moments, and Draco fancied that the biting cold air was sobering him up slightly.

“Thank you for your work this year, Malfoy,” Harry said, and Draco dully noted that they were back to surnames.

“Just doing my job.”

“You’re a really good healer.”

Draco turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him, profile lit up by the moonlight and a rather sad street lamp a few metres away. The muted lighting did nothing to hide his features, though, if anything the green of his eyes was enhanced, the strong lines of his face illuminated, that bird’s nest of hair, well, still like a bird’s nest. But in the most attractive way possible, of course.

Draco’s gaze inevitably slips lower to Potter’s lips, focusing in on how full the bottom one is, and he is gripped with the sudden urge to bite on it. He doesn’t, of course – he’s not a bloody vampire or the impulsive schoolboy he once was – but it doesn’t stop him thinking about it.

Potter catches him staring, and Draco’s not sure but he thinks Potter leans towards him slightly.

Were they about to kiss? What time was it – was it midnight yet? Could he justify a New Year’s kiss?

The sound of bells chiming in the distance heralds the start of the New Year, and now Draco is sure that Potter’s eyes have darted down to Draco’s lips then back up to his face. He swallows thickly, tilting his head slightly-

BANG!

He jerks backwards, startled by the far-too-close sound of fireworks going off. Potter jumps, too, clearly not expecting the Catherine Wheel that has been set off by one of Draco’s neighbours and is whirring noisily a few meters away.

And like that, the moment had passed. Potter stood up and gave a formal little nod in Draco’s direction.

“Happy New Year, Malfoy.”

“Happy New Year,” Draco replied, watching the other man disapparate, “Harry.”


	6. Letters and House Calls

The first week of the New Year came and went in a rapid blur for Draco. He’d been run off his feet at St Mungo’s what with much of the regular staff taking their annual leave, which was fortuitous because it gave him very little spare time to think about the absolute fool he’d made of himself in front of Potter at the New Year’s Party.

Even now, the thought of his slurred speech and desperate clinging onto things to remain upright made him want to be swallowed up by the ground beneath his feet. He supposed he had Potter to thank for the fact that none of his co-workers seemed to have noticed his state of inebriation. Thank Merlin! And that itself was enough to propel Draco to his writing desk that Friday evening and pen a letter to Potter thanking him for his service.

_Dear Potter,_  
_Thank you for your assistance last week at the party. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you-_

No! That sounded far too needy. Draco started again.

_Dear Potter,_  
_I’m writing to offer thanks for your help last week when I imbibed too much whiskey-_

Nope. Potter probably wouldn’t know what the word imbibed meant. And it made everything seem far too much like Draco’s fault for getting drunk. Which it wasn’t. Not even a bit.

 _Dear Potter_ -  
   
No. Even that was too formal.

_Potter,_  
_It was nice to see you last week without the need of stasis charms or blood-replenishing potions. Thank you for your assistance regarding my transport home. It was much appreciated. If you ever need a favour, don’t hesitate to ask. I don’t like being in someone’s debt._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Draco Malfoy._

Well, at least that sounded like him. And it was true – he hated owing people favours. Especially Potter. Plus, there was enough sarcasm about needing medical care that Potter would know everything was back to normal. He hoped. Sort of.

He attached it to his owl, Persephone, and sent the letter on its way before he could regret it.

Deciding it was time for dinner, Draco went down the street to the strip of muggle takeaway restaurants and ordered himself a curry. They’d never had that sort of exotic food in the Manor, and Draco had found himself quite enjoying trying new things. It didn’t always end well, mind you. He would never again buy a kebab from that particular vendor… But all in all, he found himself enjoying the freedom to do what he wanted, eat what he wanted, etc.

Upon his return to the flat, he noticed a barn owl waiting for him with a short missive attached to its leg. If that was from Potter, it would be a very quick reply indeed. The restaurant he’d selected wasn’t called ‘Curry in a Hurry’ for nothing – he couldn’t have been gone more than twenty minutes.

Smirking a little to himself at the idea that Potter had been keen to get back to him quickly, he welcomed the owl into his apartment, untying the note from its leg, giving it an owl treat and then settled down at the kitchen bench with his plastic containers in one hand, note in the other.

_Dear Malfoy,_  
_Yes, it was quite the novelty to take care of you for a change. How did you pull up the morning after? No favours needed at the moment, but I’ll keep you posted._  
_Teddy says hi._  
_Harry_

And thus began Draco Malfoy’s evening of correspondence with one Harry James Potter. Because he wasn’t about to let Harry have the last word.

_Potter,_  
_Tell Teddy I say hi to him. How is his hand? All healed, I hope._  
_The morning after was an unpleasant experience that is best forgotten. Truthfully, it’s all very embarrassing. For all my talk of self-preservation, I was not a good example that evening. As your medical practitioner, I must ask you to do as I say and not as I do. Gotten into any life-threatening situations of late?_  
_DM_

_***_

_Malfoy,_  
_Teddy’s hand is all better, thanks to you. He’s taken to turning his hair blond, which he seems to find incredibly funny._  
_Nope. No life-threatening situations. I’ve taken a fortnight off over the holidays to spend time with Teddy while Andromeda takes a break. Honestly, I don’t know how she does this full time. I’m bloody tired. Any medical advice?_  
_HP_

_***_

_Potter,_  
_Advise for being tired is sleep, you half-wit. Go to bed! It’s half past twelve._  
_DM_

_***_

_Malfoy,_  
_I can’t go to sleep if your bloody owl keeps bringing me messages, can I?_  
_Harry_

_***_

_Malfoy,_  
_That wasn’t an invitation to stop writing._  
_Harry_

_***_

_Potter,_  
_I didn’t want to be responsible for the Chosen One falling asleep on the job and consequently for all of wizarding Britain going to shit. Good morning, by the way. I hope you are sufficiently rested and ready for a weekend of child-rearing. By all accounts, it’s quite a taxing job. That’s why house-elves were invented. You should invest in one._  
_DM_

When Draco didn’t hear back from Harry for a few hours, he didn’t think much of it. Potter was a busy man and probably had far better things to do than correspond with Draco on a Saturday morning. Besides, Draco didn’t think it was good for him to get too attached. Since Potter’s owl the previous evening, the almost-kiss had been playing in his mind on a constant loop. Inebriated though he had been, there was perfect clarity around that moment – it had crystallised in his memory like a bug trapped in amber. Not a perfect metaphor, Draco thought, but somewhat apt. After all, it could’ve been a beautiful moment, if only…

Draco busied himself with laundry and other mundane tasks until about 5pm, when Potter’s owl swooped in through an open window and pecked impatiently at Draco’s ear.

“Ouch! Bloody thing. What was that for?” Draco demanded, ducking away from the bird’s aggressive stare. The owl did nothing but stick out its leg impatiently. “Alright, alright,” Draco muttered.

He untied the letter and the bird swooped back out again, obviously not expecting a reply.

_Draco,_  
_It’s Teddy. I think he’s ill. Maybe Dragon Pox? Come at once._  
_12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London._  
_Harry_

Without a second thought, Draco grabbed his cloak and his emergency first aid kit and stepped into the fireplace.

He felt the familiar tickle of green flames as he threw in the floo powder, the spinning sensation as his person was bumped through the Floo network from place to place, before feeling the tingling wards of Harry Potter’s home giving him the once over and letting him in. He stumbled out of the grate into a fairly unimpressive room.

The grand fireplace which he had exited was the centrepiece of the wall it was on, perpendicular to the wall covered with the infamous Black family tree tapestry. He was sure if he stared at it long enough, he would be able to find his own name on there somewhere, but his brief perusal of the room was interrupted when a very flustered and upset looking Harry arrived in the doorway.

“Thank god you’re here,” Harry said, rushing over and grabbing Draco by the wrist, yanking him bodily into the hall and up the grand staircase.

“I take it the patient is upstairs?”

“Yes, he’s in his room. I don’t know what to do,” Harry said frantically, still not letting go of Draco’s wrist.

“And you think it might be Dragon Pox?” Draco asked calmly, adopting his healer persona even though he sincerely hoped Harry was wrong. Dragon Pox could be fatal if not caught early enough, though it was relatively common for younger witches and wizards to contract it.

“He’s been up since about 6 this morning with a fever. And he’s covered in itchy little marks. I had to spell oven mitts onto his hands to stop him from scratching.”

Harry turned to face Draco, eyes wide with fear. Draco felt his heart skip a beat at their proximity and the look in Harry’s eyes. Here was a man in touch with his emotions and unafraid to let them show. How Draco wished he had Harry’s confidence.

But now was a time to be a professional. He gently extracted his wrist from Harry’s vice-like grip, and instead took Harry’s shoulders in his hands, levelling him with a calm gaze.

“You’ve done the right thing. I’m a healer. I can help you, but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Are you mental? I’ve had Teddy in my care for less than a week and he might die! CALM DOWN?” Harry bellowed.  
Draco was, by now, used to stressed out relatives of patients, and could probably write the handbook on how to deal with them. He summoned a chair from across the landing, pushed Harry down into it, and took a vial of calming draught from his first aid kit.

“Sit down. Drink this.”

Harry sent him a mutinous look, before uncorking the vial and tossing it back. Immediately, his breathing evened out and his eyes lost the wild look they’d held a moment earlier.

“Better?”

Harry nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m going to go in there and examine Teddy. You are going to stay here and take deep breaths. Can you do that for me, Harry?”

He nodded again.

Draco turned and entered what was presumably Teddy’s bedroom when staying with Harry.

“Teddy?” he called out, unable to immediately spy the boy.

A tuft of ginger hair emerged from under the bed and for a moment, Draco was worried he’d be treating a surprise Weasley. But no, from under the head of hair emerged a familiar little face, covered in itchy red splodges.

“Mr Malfoy?” Teddy asked.

“Yes, remember me from Christmas?” Draco replied, trying for a placating smile. Teddy nodded. “Can you come out from under the bed, please? Your godfather is very worried about you.”

Teddy scrambled out from under the bed and moved to sit on top of it where Draco was pointing.

“Now, I’m going to give you a quick once over and work out just what to do with you. Is that alright?”

Again, Teddy nodded.

Draco was pleased to note that these itchy patches didn’t look like any recorded case of Dragon pox that he’d either seen or read about in his studies. Nor was Teddy’s skin faintly tinged green and, as far as he could tell, he wasn’t emitting sparks from his nostrils. All warning signs of the aforementioned disease.

Draco cast a spell to gauge Teddy’s temperature, and while it was a little high it was nowhere near fever level.

“When did you start to get itchy, Teddy?” Draco asked mildly, a hypothesis forming in his mind.

“Last night,” the boy replied, eyes darting to his wardrobe briefly and back to Draco.

“Hmm,” Draco said. “That’s very odd.”

“Is it Dragon Pox?”

“Well, Teddy, that depends.”

The young boy looked stricken, but Draco didn’t feel a shred of guilt. Sometimes the young ones had to learn to take care of themselves just as much as the older ones did. And a brief moment of fear was the best thing to inspire good hygiene in children.

“On what?”

“Have you been around any dragons lately?”

“No, sir.”

“What about other animals?”

“Uh… no?”

“Because sometimes other animals can give you nasty diseases,” Malfoy continued, nodding sagely.

“They can?” Teddy squeaked.

“Yes, they can. Wild animals can carry all sorts of things. Mumblemumps, spattergroit, scrofungulus – I could go on.”

Teddy stared at him, eyes wide and fearful.

“Have you been in contact with any other animals recently, Teddy? It’s very important that you tell me the truth.”

A moment later, calming draught be damned, Harry was urgently calling through the door. “Well? Is he ok?”

He stumbled slightly when Malfoy pulled the door open suddenly, clearly trying to hide the smirk that was taking over his face.

“Yes, Potter, he’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not Dragon Pox.”

“What is it? Some other horrible disease? A common cold?”

The healer looked as though a laugh might escape him, before he tried to school his expression into something more neutral.

“Fleas.”

Draco stepped back to reveal a sheepish looking Teddy clutching a mangy kneazle with ginger whiskers.

“Sorry, Harry,” Teddy said, using his best puppy-dog eyes on his godfather.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry said, turning back to Malfoy.

“As it turns out, last night – presumably while you were otherwise occupied – Teddy snuck into the backyard and found, sorry, what is his name?”

“Frank,” Teddy supplied, helpfully.

“He found Frank and brought him inside for cuddles and milk. Unfortunately, Frank has fleas, and now Teddy has fleas. Hence the rash.”

“Edward Remus Lupin, what were you thinking? We don’t keep secrets in this house! I thought you were dying of Dragon Pox!” Harry cried, though the relief was clear across his face.

“Sorry, Harry,” Teddy replied, but clung to Frank even tighter.

“I might just let you deal with this,” Draco said gesturing to the cat situation, “and finish my treatment when you’re done. I’ve got something for the itching and a potion somewhere to fumigate his bedroom.”

“Thanks, Malfoy. Really,” Harry said, looking completely wrung out.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Draco said, gently touching Harry’s arm, then descending the staircase and very carefully trying not to laugh.

 

About ten minutes later, as Draco has just about worked out his way around Harry’s kitchen, said kitchen-owner arrived, small child in tow.

“We’re keeping Frank!” Teddy cried joyfully.

“Are you?” Draco asked, sending a raised eyebrow at Harry. “That’s interesting.”

“Well, obviously I need to take him to a magizoologist and get him looked at first,” Harry said. “And there’s Andromeda to talk to as well.”

“How do you plan on breaking that news to her?” Draco smirked.

“I guess if she says no, Frank can just stay with me for when Teddy visits,” Harry shrugged.

“Hot chocolate, Teddy?” Malfoy asked. Teddy nodded enthusiastically, hair now ginger striped through with white-blond.

“The stop-itch potion is in his drink. Tastes awful by itself,” Draco said in an undertone to Harry. Harry offered him an appreciative smile.

“And this,” Draco said, handing Harry something that looked like a purple grenade, “Is for his bedroom. Chuck it in, close the door, and leave it for about an hour.”

“How do you know about all this stuff?” Harry said, somewhat in awe.

“Well, I do have three year’s training as a healer. But the flea stuff is personal experience. I, too, had a secret pet when I was small.”

“Really?”

“A crup named Ebert. He lasted a week in the Manor before mother found out. I wasn’t as lucky as Teddy, though. Ebert was sent away.”

“Where to?” Teddy piped up.

“Uh, a farm, I think,” Draco invented, not wanting to upset the poor, itchy child any more than strictly necessary. “Anyway, I’d best be off. People to heal. Potions to brew. You know…” he shrugged awkwardly.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Harry asked, green eyes searching. Draco felt his heart skip another beat – quite inconvenient!

“Thanks for the offer, Potter, but I should be going.”

“It’s Harry,” the man replied quietly, something unidentifiable shining in his eyes. Gratitude, probably, Draco thought. Nothing more. “Let me walk you to the door,” Harry said.

“Goodbye, Teddy,” Draco said, tearing his attention away from Harry to look at the small child (who was regarding the two men with far too much curious interest for Draco’s comfort).

“Goodbye Healer Malfoy. Thank you for your help.”

“You are more than welcome. But remember the two things I taught you.”

“Always tell the truth and always wash my hands,” Teddy recited proudly.

“Good lad,” Draco smiled, grabbing his medical kit. “Until next time.”

 

Draco allowed himself to be led to the front door by a particularly hesitant Potter.

“It was nice of you to let him keep Frank,” Draco said mildly.

“Hmm.”

“I mean, rewarding bad behaviour with a pet isn’t typical parenting, but whatever works,” Draco smiled. Then Harry pulled him into a strong, warm hug. In shock, Draco felt his arms automatically circle Harry’s back.

“Thank you,” Harry said, voice rough. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Draco was unsure how to respond – he definitely didn’t know how to write a handbook on this particular situation. “It’s all fine, Harry, he’s okay.” He patted awkwardly at Harry’s back, trying not to think inappropriate thoughts about the strong muscles he could feel or the delightful scent of Harry’s shampoo that he was breathing in.

After a moment of what really was an acutely lovely hug, Harry pulled away.

“You called me Harry,” he said, smiling.

“Well, as you keep reminding me, that is your name,” Draco replied, the corner of his mouth tugging up against his will.

“Thank you, Draco,” Harry said quietly. Draco couldn’t help it. He smiled back properly, warmth flooding his body.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

Then he disapparated. 


End file.
